Secret Radio Murders - Chapter 20

‘Saturday morning is for sleeping in— a leisurely few hours of sex or the start of a weekend trip. It sure as Hell isn’t for sitting alone in an apartment, waiting to see if your husband can manage to get himself killed.’1

Detective Sergeant Bradley Benson paused in his concentration to remember his wife’s outburst following him out the door as he left home that morning. The nagging and yelling was becoming habitual, depressing, and an excuse for limiting his exposure to her—not a good thing after only three years of marriage. 2

Benson pushed the play button and listened to the taped conversations Hayes and Hamlin had left with him after the debriefing. Concentrating on the job at hand made forgetting personal problems easier.3

“You said that you didn't think she was serious about her threat to commit suicide, so why does it surprise you that she may have been murdered?” The tape didn’t camouflage the rudeness in young detective Hamlin’s tone. It could irritate a saint, Benson decided. While there was no problem in an interview like this, when that attitude carried over into conversations with superiors, which it had this morning, the kid was skating on thin ice. It surprised him that Farley put up with the kid’s insolence. 4

There was a quick intake of air before the male’s voice said, “You think some one killed this Michelle?”5

“That’s not exactly what I said,” Hamlin snapped. “I asked you if she indicated she was afraid of someone? People can commit suicide out of fear.”6

The tape spun away. The man, specified to be one Dale Carter, now proven to be the volunteer who took Michelle Baine’s last call, didn’t appear to be anymore helpful than required. 7

“I told you—I hardly remember the conversation. She was cut up bad about some guy moving out on her.” 8

“Did she name the guy? Even a first name?” Hayes broke in. Benson guessed the older male was growing weary of the two young bulls sparing with each other.9

“Nah.”10

“Think about it. You said you don’t remember much. If you think a minute…”11

“You took off early that day? Why?” Hamlin said. 12

“What are you suggesting?”13

“Easy Dale, we're just considering all the possibilities,” said Hayes. “The quicker we clear people, the faster we can move in on those without an alibi.”14

“It was a slow night. I had a headache. I went home. My girl was there, she'll vouch for me.”15

“I’m sure she will Dale.” Hayes was making an effort to appease the witness. With a few more simply questions Hayes concluded the interview and said, “And thank you, this will make our job easier.”16

“My lady’s married,” said Dale. “So please be discrete.” 17

Benson rewound the tape and stopped at the interview with a young lady, one Kelsey Purcell. He scanned the notes the interviewing detectives had made while he listened to a high-pitched nervous whine that belied her declaration of, “You don’t scare me—I just hate cops.”18

He listened for a while marveling at how easily Hayes played the sympathetic big brother role. Kelsey spilled everything—in a few minutes time she’d completely cleared herself from any apparent involvement with the Baine case. Hayes had gotten a rock solid alibi from the young lady. She’d been given a ride from her supervisor the morning of the murder to Penn Station. From there she’d caught a train to Paterson, New Jersey where she’d spent the weekend with her brother’s family. All simple enough to verify.19

“Morning Sarge,” Cody interrupted his thoughts as he came in carting a bunch of files. “Since you’re here on Saturday too, let me give you a run down on the cases that have similarities to Baine’s.” He piled the files on Benson’s desk. “I went back on suspected suicides for the past year. These are all young single women who lived alone, placed a call to the radio station or crisis line or both.”20

“How many have you got?”21

“Including Baine there’s ten that match up perfectly—about fifteen more that are a little iffy.” 22

Benson looked at his watch. “It’s nearly eleven—let’s grab a bite first. Then we’ll settle in for the afternoon.”23

24


Ten to eleven on a Saturday morning, found Renee Weinberg still in bed nursing a slight hangover. She was disgusted with herself. Getting drunk hadn’t been fun, it had been a lonely stint laying on the couch in her forlorn apartment with the reruns of Law And Order flickering on a mute TV screen while her Ipod played sad songs in her ear. Friday night and she’d been too frigging emotionally drained to even eat dinner. The Chinese she’d stopped for on the way home turned cold in the packaging while she downed a six-pack of Saranac. God! She had a contract; they couldn’t just fire her over some damn Daddy Do Right accusing her of singling his Precious out. The damn kid…no it wasn’t Zachary’s fault, she chastised herself, it was the system. Respect for authority had vanished; if a child could swear at Mommy, what chance did a teacher have.25

Finally dragging herself from the bed, she staggered into the bathroom and went to her knees at the toilet just in time. The burning acid rushed up her throat, and shoved passed her teeth to be expelled in the bowl. Squatting on the tiled floor, her face shinny with tears and sweat, she sobbed into her palms. The vile smell of vomit assaulted her nose and her throat burned.26

The city was eating her up and she helpless to stop it. Ever since she’d found her perfect job on the Internet, went through all the modern equivalent of interviews and accepted the position, her finances took a turn for the worst. Her fabulous salary, three times what she earned in the small school in upstate NY, she discovered was significantly less when confronted with cost of living in New York City.27

Renee forced her weary body into the shower. She wanted to return to her bed—to just lie there until her flesh took root and grew into the mattress. No one would realize she was gone. A few months from now when her brother didn’t get his annual Christmas card, he might consider giving her a call. 28

The bottle of body wash slipped from her fingers and she didn’t have the energy to pick it up. She rinsed off and cloaked herself in last of her clean towels. She just had to do laundry.29

She hated the trip to cellar. The rule was you couldn’t abandon your clothing in either the washers or dryers—abandon! You’d think they were children or something. You had to stay there reading until it was time to fold them. Of course none of the other tenants said much more than good morning. Someone did inform her she had Elsie’s home—Elsie was a good soul, lived there forty years—rotten children plunked her in a nursing home—ungrateful young people today. When she visited the apartment building the school found her, Renee had been certain she saw a few individuals in the lobby who didn’t click their dentures. They must have been visitors or existed somewhere other than the first four floors. She lived in apartment 417.30

Dressed in jean shorts and a white tee, Renee yanked the only pair of sheets she owned from her bed, shoved them in her mesh bag and began gathering up the rest of her laundry.31

What was her hurry she laughed at herself, she had nowhere to go. She had no acquaintances let alone friends. The other female teachers at school were of an age that found anything under forty a threat, her male colleagues were either married and figured she might be good for a fling or gay. She might as well make some coffee and maybe some dry toast.32

Renee crossed in front of the entrance door just as her buzzer lit up, she flipped the switch and though she missed the hurried name in the muffled voice it announced. "I'm from the Crisis Line. May I come in up?"33

"You make house calls, too?" 34

"We like to do a follow up. Often in this big cold city, people need a bit of warm small town friendship. Would you prefer I left, Renee?”35

“No!” She nearly yelled as the panic seized her. This guy was offering her a hand and she was going to send him away. She pressed the buzzer that released the front door lock. “Come up to 417.”36

She hurried to drag the laundry back into the bedroom then checked her hair in the hall mirror while she waited for her guest to arrive.